


agnothesia

by lunarecrypt



Series: Kuebiko [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved Akechi Goro, look sometimes akechi is just angy and that's ok, minor mentions of blood, nothing major just a small cut, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarecrypt/pseuds/lunarecrypt
Summary: n. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Kuebiko [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967707
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	agnothesia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jestarcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestarcana/gifts).



> Jest i love you so much even though you gave me P5 brainrot. These two live in my head rent free forever now.

Goro looks at himself in the mirror, lights far too bright and skin far too smooth. His foundation is blended perfectly into his skin, and the combination of setting powder and spray ensures none will rub off on his collar. The makeup artist gives him a shallow once-over before nodding her approval. She’s long since become used to his unwillingness to let her anywhere near his face, and he appreciates her lack of acknowledgment of that fact. 

Still, as he coats his hair in a fine sheen of high-impact hairspray, he fights the urge to run his fingers through the flawless, television-ready strands. But that would be foolish and Goro has an image to maintain, regardless of how much he still thinks about the brief four seconds of time where someone else’s cool fingers were pressed against his scalp. He stands abruptly from his worn-out chair and shakes the thought away. His hair stays perfectly in place. 

It pisses him off. 

He glares at the reflection in the mirror, though his face remains as pleasantly impassive as ever. A snap decision he will never admit to in front of an audience has him ruffling his hair much the same way Ren had at that cute little café not two days prior. In the two and half-second his fingers are intertwined in the strands, he closes his eyes and remembers a soft laugh around a half-moon smile. He almost lets himself smile at the memory, at the ridiculous moment and the feel of Ren’s hands in his hair. He immediately curses himself for the thought. He reminds himself he hates being touched.

“Akechi, your hair!” Goro’s eyes snap open and he yanks his hands away from his hair, fingers stiff and sticky with hairspray. 

“Ah, my apologies. I got a bit frustrated with this section that wouldn’t stay put.” He smiles charmingly at the stylist, covering his moment of weakness with a flimsy excuse she doesn’t question. She tuts at him and forces him back into the chair, and Goro tries not to stiffen as she stalks toward him with a brush and a can of hairspray. 

•••

The bar is crowded tonight, filled with evening patrons drowning their too-long workdays in cheap alcohol and greasy food and the company of commiseration. In the far back corner between one end of the bar and too many tables, two sets of eyes stare at a whiteboard. The numbers are nearly identical, and the two players leave little margin for error when they aim. It’s a seemingly relaxed game, but neither player is willing to admit defeat, and they watch each other’s movements closely.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Goro hums, fingers curling beneath his chin as he stares at the board. “I doubt today is the day you’ll beat me, but I do enjoy seeing your progress.” He leans against a recently vacated barstool, arms crossed over his sweater-vest and challenge glittering in his eyes. Ren Amamiya takes a sip of his drink before stepping to the throw line again.

Goro does not need to resort to such petty tactics as making sudden commentary in the middle of Ren’s turn to cause an error. He knows he is good enough to win regardless. But Ren, never one to run from a challenge, tosses a smirk over his shoulder as he lines up his last shot of the round, only glancing at the board briefly before letting the dart fly. Bullseye. Damn. “You should try me at pool sometime. I’m pretty good.”

Goro barely contains a scoff, fingers crumpling into the stiff sleeve of his pressed white shirt. “I could beat you with my eyes closed.” He steps up to the line of tape for his turn as Ren shrugs. The dart will hit dead center, he knows, and he will win again despite the bullseyes Ren has been steadily collecting all night. He has the advantage—only one of his shots hasn’t been a bullseye. Ren has missed two such shots.

Goro Akechi does not like to lose. 

He lines up his shot, feels Ren’s dark eyes on him as he leans against the barstool. He draws his arm back.

Of course, neither the universe nor the metaverse has ever been on Goro Akechi’s side, and a man chooses that exact moment to stand too suddenly and knock into their small table. It teeters precariously, and Ren reaches out to yank Goro back before it crashes right into them both. Their drinks fall, glass shattering on the floor. The water spreads across the tile and towards their throw line, making the faded edges of the starting tape curl at the edges. Goro sighs.

The man spins around, glaring at them. He smells of cheap booze and salt, and his lips curl into a sneer. “Your table’s in my way, you damn brats!” Goro is tired. It has been a _long_ day, and he does not want to deal with yet another thing like this during his off hours.

Ren mutters something under his breath behind him that sounds suspiciously like _fuck off_ , but Goro just smiles at the man, face blandly pleasant and giving away no hint of his irritation. “My apologies, sir, we must have moved the table before our game.” If the man can hear the grinding of Goro’s teeth, he’s too drunk to notice. 

“Then move it! I don’t need you little shits getting in my way when I’m trying to have a good time.” The man drapes his arm across the shoulders of a pretty brunette next to him, who gives them an equally scathing look. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” He continues his drunken blabber, spewing vitriol at them with every wave of his arm, but Goro has tuned him out. 

His hands are shaking, nails curling into his gloves hard enough to puncture the soft leather and draw blood from his palms.. His jaw aches from clenching his teeth so hard, and he can feel Ren’s eyes boring into his back. Always with those eyes that see too much. It pisses him off as much as the couple in front of him, and to hell with it, it’s been a long day and he is _tired_. He takes a half-step forward without thinking.

Ren’s hands clamp around his upper arms, startling him right out of his rage and rooting him to the floor. He murmurs something in his ear, but Goro hears nothing beyond the ringing in his ears. Ren steps around him and crosses his arms, raising one eyebrow at the man. He practically explodes, but it has the desired effect. The bartender intervenes and offers free drinks to the couple, diverting the attention from them. He practically drags Goro to the door after a quick nod of thanks. Goro is still not comprehending anything beyond the fire in his blood. Ren shifts Goro in front of him, guiding him through the open door with one hand between his shoulders and another on the cold steel.

Reality slaps him in the face as soon as he steps outside. Ren’s hand on Goro’s back is a stark contrast to the chilly autumn air. It’s enough to bring him fully back into awareness, but not enough to erase the burning on his arms or the anger still simmering in his veins. He whirls on Ren and opens his mouth, forgetting for a moment his carefully crafted mask of calm and collected detective. 

“Calm down.” Ren’s voice is gentle but stern, neon lights reflecting off his lenses and obscuring his eyes while the rest of him stands in the shadow of the entrance’s awning.

Goro blinks, takes a moment to breathe in the chilly air. The thin fabric of his shirt sleeves does little to protect him from the breeze that kicks up. His sweater vest keeps his torso warm, but perhaps he had underestimated the chill autumn brought to the air. It was November after all. Nearly winter. 

Ren takes that moment to grab his right wrist and lift it between them. His fingers are hot, suffusing warmth into the soft skin of Goro’s pulse point. Goro tries to yank his wrist away, but Ren holds fast. Anger surges through him again, until Ren opens his mouth. 

“You’re bleeding.” His eyes are still obscured by the lights, but he is frowning and his brows knit together in an expression Goro might call _concern_ if he could actually see it fully.

He considers saying something, considers trying to pull his hand away again, but he hesitates. Ren is kneeling down to pull a small first-aid kit out of his bag, but he doesn’t release his hold. Ren stares at him when he stands up again, but the lights are still reflecting off his lenses and Goro can’t tell what expression Ren is making. He really hates those damn things. He realizes he hasn’t unclenched his fists yet. His nails are still digging into his palms, drawing fresh blood and soaking the soft leather of his gloves. It’s only now that he feels the pain, annoying but tolerable. He’s dealt with worse.

Slowly, so slowly, he relaxes his fingers and unclenches his fist. Ren does not let go of his wrist, nearly cradles it in his hand as he rips open a disinfectant wipe with his teeth. He is gentle when he pulls off the gloves and gentle when he cleans the small wounds. Goro has a relatively high pain tolerance—he has to, in his line of work—but he barely feels the disinfectant on his cuts. All he can feel is the warmth of Ren’s hand on his skin.

When was the last time someone touched his bare hands?

He watches their hands, transfixed. Ren bandages his right hand and releases him. Goro mourns the loss of Ren’s warmth until he reaches for his left hand. The warmth of his skin is stronger here, on Goro’s dominant hand. He is reminded of the same fingers that bandage him ruffling through his hair and shoving fake glasses on his face. Ren’s hands were cool then but they are warm now, nearly searing in their gentleness. Goro hates to be touched. 

Yet why had he let that happen? Why is he letting it happen now?

He wracks his brain but finds no answer. 

Ren tapes down the edge of the bandage and hums. He is finished. Goro tears his gaze away from their hands. Ren’s eyes are unobscured by the lights this time. He does, in fact, look concerned, but only just. His expressions are hard to track unless one is paying attention, but standing this close Goro can see every minute twitch of his face, the way his dark eyes bore into Goro’s own. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. It falls quietly from his lips—something in him warns not to disturb this fragile moment just yet—and Ren nods. Both corners of his mouth twitch up in a small smile. He squeezes the back of Goro’s hand and places both gloves in his upturned palm. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Goro closes his fingers over his gloves. The moment breaks naturally, but Goro feels unbalanced all the same. He is at war with himself, fighting against the warmth still lingering on his skin. He is both angry and not—at himself for letting it happen, at Ren for doing it in the first place. But he is also confused by the tight feeling in his chest. 

Truly, he cannot remember the last time someone touched his bare hands. Certainly not with his permission, unspoken or otherwise. He lets out a slow breath, watches it fog in the air. Ren is still watching him, watching the hand he has suspended in the air still holding his gloves. It feels like he’s searching for something, and for once Goro is left without his mask of pleasantness. He is unguarded, not the Ace Detective or the Detective Prince, but just Goro Akechi. 

He hates the feeling. 

Ren must find whatever it is he’s looking for in Goro’s eyes, because he abruptly turns around and starts walking towards the station. He looks back and waits for Goro to take the hint and join him before continuing on. The walk is quiet despite the business of the city. 

Goro thinks that it’s less quiet than just… peaceful. They part ways with the promise of a rematch and a game of pool in the near future. 

When the host of the show he’s guest-starring on asks why his hands are bandaged, Goro laughs pleasantly and says he was clumsy enough to drop a glass on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> This will inevitably end up a series of one-shots because now that p5 has its hooks in me, I'm stuck here for a while. Probably a piece or two from Ren's pov as well, because I'm incapable of not loving that edgy dude. 
> 
> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KirishiMom), generally screaming about my latest interests and retweeting pictures of rocks I like. 
> 
> [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/KirishiMom) || [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/kirishimom) || [full rec list](https://kirishimom.crd.co/#recs)


End file.
